Tourniquet (old version!)
by Fallen-Angel-Spirit
Summary: How the loss of a loved one may affect the minds of those left behind, and how friends are left to pick up the pieces. Will they succeed, or is it too late? My old username was horsemadcoco! Started ages ago! Please R&R!


_Disclaimer: If I owned any of Tolkien's works, I wouldn't be writing 'fanfiction'. One can always hope, though...*goes back to tracing family tree*. Seriously though, only Lostariel and Faelwen belong to me, and an entire host of other OCs in later chapters._

_1st Leoglas fic ever! So go easy on me people, no flames, only constructive criticism! I will warn you now, I haven't yet written an elfling story that I've had the guts to post, so...yeah. I only usually write Silmarillion fics, but this plot bunny crept up on me one cold winter morning and it hasn't left me alone since, so I decided I might as well feed it. _

_Warning: Seriously horrendous use of erroneous Sindarin words. Please, anybody, feel free to tell me that my limited knowledge of the Elven languages and/or the English language sucks. If anyone can tell me more, feel free! _

_Tithen pen-Supposed to (in my little world) mean 'little one'. _

_Aran-'King'_

_Adar-'father'_

_Nana-'mummy', short for naneth, which is 'mother'_

_Fea-'spirit' _

Prologue

Lostariel forced her small shovel into the earth. The plant was perfect, and though it may not have liked being uprooted, she desperately wanted it for her garden. The elf sighed and rocked back into a kneeling position with a smile to the little boy playing next to her. So absorbed in his game was he that he did not notice. Instead he let out a pretend warrior cry and moved his archers through the forest floor. She smiled anyway. Her son was four now, and doing as well as he should be; he could speak well and only occasionally missed out the first or middle letters of words, though he had almost no friends to play with. He had been born in dark times, and the only other elflings near his age were about nine or ten years older than him. _It's a pity_, she thought, turning her attention back to the plant whose roots were still firmly embedded in the soil before her. _When I was a child I never lacked company. There was always seven or eight of us who ran almost wild through the paths of Imladris._ Lostariel smiled at the memories. There was nothing unusual about it, of course most people were used to it, but she was simply beautiful. Long silver hair hung in an intricate braid down to the small of her back. Her skin was pale white; the sunlight, dappled by the canopy of the forest, seemed to make her skin shimmer. Her delicate dress in hues of forest green was richly embroidered, betraying her noble status. And yet she knelt on the damp earth like the women around her. _And why should I be any different to them?_ She thought as she eased the plant out of its place and got to work on the next one. _I wasn't born a queen. Nay, if I hadn't have married the king I'd never have been the queen._ She stopped to watch her son again, as if by thinking of his adar she had to check that he was still here too. He was. She almost joined in with him as he threw back his tiny head and laughed because one of her friends was tickling him. She stared at his hair, flaxen-gold like his adar's, as it swung gently from side to side as he shook his head.

"No! Nana, tell 'er to stop!" The little boy shouted with a child's lisp, wriggled away from Faelwen and toddled over to Lostariel, who sat him on her lap.

"Hush, little one! Calm down, and listen to the trees." The song of the trees always made him go quiet. He loved the trees, and could understand their words almost as well as Thranduil could despite only being a toddler. He crawled over to the base of a large oak tree and, closing his eyes, sank into the embrace of the old tree, which began an entirely different song just for the entertainment of its new friend. A happy smile played on the elfling's lips. Faelwen let out a quiet laugh.

"He'll be foremost in the minds of every young girl in the Greenwood when he's older! He truly is a credit to you and Aran Thranduil, Lostariel." She turned to the others and saw them nodding in agreement with her best friend's statement. A bubble of pride blew itself up inside of her, and she thanked Faelwen for her kind words.

"Nana? What is dat?" Her child bounced excitedly up and down in her lap and thrust his miniature fist out towards one of the plants. She followed the finger with her eyes.

"That, ion nin, is a butterfly. It is very pretty, is it not?" The elfling nodded his head vigorously.

"Yes! Its 'lue, and green, and black! Can we take it home, nana?" He turned his lovely blue eyes on her. His eyes were definitely his adar's. The other women smiled down at him with expressions of love and adoration. Some of them remembered the days when their own elflings had been so small. Others like Faelwen were still waiting for less troubled times to begin a family. They were elves, were they not? They had all the time in the world! Lostariel went back to her son.

"No, we can't. You see, tithen pen, this glade we sit in is its home. It wouldn't want to be separated from the place it is used to."

"Oh." The boy's face fell for a second, but as soon as it fell it was lit back up.

"Can I go look for more, nana?" She nodded and saw him tear of like a miniature whirlwind, as fast as his little legs could bear him. She watched the butterfly for a few seconds, and it struck her quite unexpectedly that the butterfly and her son had quite a lot in common. He was a tiny, beautiful bundle of energy himself. However in the presence of other elflings he would not even talk, and more often than not would stay hidden behind Thranduil's legs. Now she realised that all she had to do was give him time to spread his wings, and once he did she was sure he'd fly. Her thoughts lingered on this for a second, and then she spotted a particular type of plant, one that she had been after for quite some time. She gathered her work things and moved over to the plant. She was so caught up in her work that she didn't notice the time fly by.

"Lostariel! Where's Legolas?" She raised her head sharply, immediately scanning the surrounding area for a flash of gold, a quickly stifled mischievous giggle, any sign of her son. There was none to be found.

"Legolas? Where are you, tithen pen?" No answer. A lump established its presence in her throat. The others promptly took up the shout, and began to search the trees around the glade. "Legolas? Game over! Come back to nana!" But still there was no sweet voice. Her panic mounted rapidly, and she rushed through the forest, all the while searching and shouting for her elfling. Faelwen followed some two or three meters behind, but Lostariel wasn't stopping. She had to find Legolas. It was too dangerous for an elfling to be out here alone. Anything could happen.

Branches seemed to snatch and grab at her whereas just this morning they had been as friendly as ever. Paths wound around and treacherous roots tried to trip her up. Her breath caught in her lungs and even her survival instinct couldn't force it out. A knot had formed in her stomach and it now slithered up to her heart, where it twisted and writhed like a snake intent on squeezing the life out of her. There were spiders in the forest, and wolves, and orcs, and worse! She forced her trembling legs to pick up the pace. How far could one little elfling have gone? Her chest constricted. Her last breath went towards a final scream.

"LEGOLAS!"

Silence. Her scream had been met by silence. And then, as if all her frantic prayers to the Valar had been answered...

"Nana! I found a really bu'ful bu'fly! Come and see!" Relief flooded through every bone, every vein, in her body and she slid gracefully to a halt beside her son, whose gaze was fixed avidly on a butterfly with delicate violet wings. Her heart began its tune once more as her lungs drew in a great breath of air. She snatched him up in what would've been a selfish way had she not just thought she'd lost him, and swung him round once before clutching him tight like a lifeline. He was her lifeline.

"Yes," She laughed, "it is beautiful. Well done! Though perhaps next time you will not stray so far from the glade in your mighty search, hmm?" When she was done he gazed up at her and shook his head sadly. Lostariel fought hard to fight back tears of relief.

"No nana. I'll stay close." She smiled at him, satisfied, and Faelwen led them back in the direction of the glade. Though the incident was over in less than five minutes, it had seemed like an eternity, and one she wouldn't forget for a while at that.

"Nana?"

"Yes?" Lostariel glanced down at Legolas. His perfect little face was scrunched up in a confused expression. But she saw fear there, too, and when her elfling's bottom lip began to tremble she scooped him up into her arms.

"What is it, tithen pen?" He glanced around himself warily, as if he were being watched.

"The trees. They are sayin' sumfing. I don't understand." Now that she listened properly, Lostariel could hear it too. It was a whisper, a hoarse, scraping sound that was unnatural for a tree.

It was the voice of fear.

The trees spoke of danger, heading towards them on swift feet, bringing death with them. Lostariel saw that her friend understood too; Faelwen's face was as pale as her silver hair. She placed the palm of her hand against the nearest tree trunk. Immediately the ancient beech told her to take her little one and fly. She did just that.

"Come, ion nin. Come!" She took hold of his hand and lifted him into her arms. With a glance at Faelwen, who nodded once, she began to run as fast as she could. The forest was a blur of greens and browns as she ran, so that it seemed as though the trees themselves were racing her, instead of the other way around. She could almost have believed it if it weren't for the aching burn beginning to form at the back of her throat. Panic was making her breathless just as much as running. Legolas knew as well as she what the trees said; he just didn't know about the dangers of the world. All she could think about were the agitated groans all around her, steadily rising in volume until the trees were actually screaming at them to go faster, to flee the coming dark. What evil was following? Orcs were easily lost, for their tracking skills were of no use if the intended prey was seeking the safety of the trees. But spiders...

Faelwen screamed. There was a thud from behind them and a screeching sound that Lostariel was certain was not the trees. Legolas's grip on her neck tightened into a strangle hold.

"Nana!"

Placing her hand across her child's eyes, she whipped around. Faelwen lay still on the ground. Blood pulsed from some hidden back injury. Mirkwood spiders were virtually unique; they were more the size of grown horses than your average spider, in various cases larger, though the principle characteristics still remained intact. It was such a spider that had felled Lostariel's best friend. It towered over her corpse, sting still buried deep.

Panic and despair all at once flared and adrenaline hit a high as Lostariel launched herself forwards once more. An angry shriek and a snarl seemed to ring in her ears. She knew that the spiders were hunting them. Nothing but weapons could counter them. She shifted her arms and felt her son curl up even more, shoving his head into her shoulder and burying his face in her dress. His whimpers were muffled by the fabric. "Hush, child. Don't worry, it'll be over soon." She tried to soothe him, to do a naneth's job, but the words came out as breathless pants. She knew it would end one way of the other. If none of the patrols had caught sight of the spider, then there was only the one solution. She would die. Not her son, though. No. There was surprisingly little emotion as she though if this. Certainly no second thoughts. It was a naneth's obligation to protect her child, and through primal instinct she would to just that. If there was any regret at all for her choice of action it was that she'd had so little time to spend with Thranduil.

"Look, here!" Lostariel skidded to a halt and jogged to a large oak tree with a hole in its trunk. Just big enough for Leoglas. "Listen here, ion nin." She gently thrust her elfling into the sanctuary the trees offered. "I need you to play a game for me."

"But I don't w-" Branches snapped, closer and closer. She cut him off. She didn't want to; she'd never tire of hearing that golden voice. But it was urgent.

"Nana needs you to be very brave for her, okay?" Screeching. There was more than one. "You have to be very quiet, like a mouse, only you're not allowed to move. Be still, and cover your ears and close your eyes. We're going to see who can do it for the longest, alright?" He nodded and obediently shut his mouth and placed tiny hands over his ears, though fear still shone bright in open eyes. Then their light was blocked out, too. Swallowing reflexively (though nothing was there), she thanked the tree, which had drawn its roots closer round Legolas. She had to do this. To be brave for him. Thranduil had told her before Legolas was even born that he'd sacrifice his life for his child. She had replied immediately with the same words. The time had come for her to do so.

She turned around to face the gigantic black mass of bristly flesh and glinting black eyes. She stood her ground, head held high, though inside her thoughts were only for her little boy. It clicked at her, stomping its spindly legs in eager anticipation. On the slight breeze that lifted suddenly, Lostariel whispered her last goodbyes. Then, as other spiders bounded through the trees, it screeched and pounced.

The trees screamed.

XxxxX

The tiny elfling braced his legs against the tree's roots and forced his body further into the tree. It was a natural instinct-to get as far away from danger as possible, and trees equalled safety for wood elves. His innocent young mind had absolutely no idea what it was that had been chasing them, only that its screech resounded evil in his pure heart. It had caught Faelwen. But he hadn't the time to dwell on that, for the intensity of the trees' screams both shocked him and pained him to the very core of his fea. Never before had he heard any living thing in such agony. Then there was another shriek. It was not a tree. The elfling had his doubts about it being the monsters. He tried desperately not to whimper. Mummy, where are you?

After what seemed like ages the tree relaxed its roots around him and groaned exhaustedly. He took his hands away from his ears and heard elves talking outside. They sounded sad, and were talking about evil spiders. He unclenched his eyes and stared straight into the face of an ancient elf.

XxxxX

Suiadan was both shocked and scared when he listened to the tree's sad tale. The death of the queen had hit his company hard, and that was just the beginning. Shockwaves would run through Eryn Lasgalen for years. And Thranduil...

_How will the young king cope? _Thranduil wasn't exactly young, Suiadan knew; he had been born in the generation before Thranduil, and as a friend and mentor, had watched him grow up. But he supposed that they were young to the trees, which had no method of counting time other than the seasons.

_This will hit him hard. Too hard. Maybe enough to..._Suiadan shook his head sharply. He could not allow himself to think like that. _No. He'll pull through. He has to. For the people's sake. For Legolas's sake. _

_Legolas? _An ancient beech the other side of the clearing cried sharply. The entire company gazed at it. _Aye, I know that name. 'Tis the name the she-elf called this little one, buried in my roots. _Suiadan jumped up and almost sprinted to the tree, followed by his companions.

_May I?_

_Be my guest. _Suiadan stuck his head into the hole at the base of the tree.

He found himself staring straight into the shocking blue eyes of a little boy. Even though he had been expecting it, the sudden appearance of the boy shocked him. The child was unmistakably Thranduil's son, with the eyes and the golden hair that was so rare for elves outside of Aman. After a few moments he regained the use of his voice.

"Are you alright, little one? Are you hurting anywhere?" The young prince shook his head. Strands of gold fell elegantly across his pale face. He looked so like his adar. Still gob-smacked at having found the son of the King in the middle of the forest with his dead naneth only a few feet away, Suiadan yanked his head back out of the hole long enough to hiss barely audible orders at his men.

"Move her body! Do it now! Quick!" _Legolas could not be allowed to see such things_, Suiadan thought. _But_ _then, maybe he had already_. No sooner had he returned his head to the hole he heard a small voice. It was so thin, so quiet. His sensitive ears barely heard it.

"Where's nana?" Suiadan gulped nervously. What would one say to an elfling in such a situation?

"Umm, she's sleeping, tithen pen."

"I want to see her." Suiadan felt a hand on his shoulder and withdrew from the hole. One of his soldiers, Bregolas, replaced him. Bregolas would be better off dealing with this, he thought. He had two of his own, though they were far older now.  
"Legolas, tithen pen, do you want to come out? It's nice and warm out here, and the nasty monsters are gone." There was the sound of shuffling and scraping, and Bregolas emerged with a tiny elfling safe in his arms, to the quiet cheers of the other warriors.  
"You're sure they are gone?" His eyes darted around nervously, never settling on any one thing. The presence of so many unfamiliar faces couldn't have helped, either.  
"Yes, I'm sure. We made them go ourselves. That's what we do. It's our job." At this statement the prince seemed to come alive.

"Really?"

"Really." Suiadan looked around and saw that many of his men had stopped doing their tasks to watch their prince. "Do you want to play a game whilst we're waiting for your ada to come and get you?" Legolas thought about saying yes, that was obvious. But then his tiny brow creased and a shadow of worry crossed his face.

"I'm already playing a game, with nana. I was supposed to be very still, with my eyes closed and my ears covered." Bregolas shot him a fearful glance. How much should they reveal? Suiadan cleared his throat. All eyes in the clearing focused on him. He focused his own on Bregolas, hoping that he would explain why she didn't respond to him.

"My prince, I can show you your naneth, if you want." Fortunately for him, the healer did.

"You must be very quiet, though. She's asleep because she is very tired and she won't be awake for some time." Tauron took the prince by the hand and led him towards the body of his naneth. As soon as he saw her the little child tugged his hand free and ran to her, the person who had given her life for his own, though he knew it not.

"Nana! Nana? The game's over now. Nana!" Suiadan felt a slight prickling in the corners of his eyes. He knew that the others had tears in their eyes too. For all the elfling's attempts to wake her were in vain. They knew their queen's spirit had already fled.

"Nana!"

Ai, Valar. What was he going to tell Thranduil?

...

_I started writing this absolutely ages ago. But I haven't had a chance to really concentrate on it until now. Then I thought, because of the wonderful reviews I've had, I'd attempt to continue it! Please read and review, they keep Bubbles the plot bunny happy and baking virtual cookies ;)_


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